Welcome to the Game
by Project K-0S
Summary: When Batman disappears one night on patrol, Nightwing enlists the help of two unlikely sources; a violent street urchin with a penchant for trouble, and an almost invisible genius with a camera. Warnings: Violence, language. AU
1. Drugs, Blood and Violence

**Hello there... Well, I don't have much to say about this, except that it was a recent plot-bunny, I haven't seen anything like it, so yeah... Hope you enjoy, reviews are appreciated (please and thank you :)**

**-Project K-0S**

* * *

He wouldn't call it a dark and stormy night, purely for the purpose of avoiding the terribly overused cliché, but rather dark and unpleasant due to the looming storm clouds and the rain pouring down upon him in buckets.

The roar of his motorcycle tore through the silence (well, the relatively quiet. Gotham, after all, only became more alive come nightfall), then coming to an abrupt stop as his thumb hit the kill switch. He dismounted the blue and black beauty, letting it rest on the kick stand. He surveyed the large warehouse in front of him, (because we all know that if you want to be a classy villain, you only use warehouses), where there was supposed to be a drug trade happening.

Walking over to the door, he used a hand to wipe the rain droplets off the lenses of his masks. When he tried the door, he was moderately surprised to find it unlocked. He then opened the door a crack. Pausing to listen, he heard muffled voices, indicating that they were located further back in the building. He opened it fully, taking in his surroundings.

"Nightwing to Batman, I'm in. What's your status?" He spoke quickly and quietly into his communicator.

"Already?" Said vigilante asked, a near undetectable amount of shock lacing his voice.

"Yep, either these thugs are idiots, or it's a trap," Nightwing confirmed, continuing down the corridor.

"Be careful,"

"Always," he replied, then turned the communicator off. After performing some Spiderman-like movements, he found himself in the rafters above the big table where a rather large briefcase was opened, showing green bills were spread across the top rather neatly. He noticed a sliver of dull gray in the corner, underneath the bills. Newspaper, he thought, though not holding much sympathy for the clearly naïve mob-boss. Oldest trick in the book.

He waited patiently, searching for the perfect moment to strike. _Three, two, one!_ If one was listening from outside, they would hear a series of painful grunts and moans, many gunshots, and a yelp or two. After a few minutes, Nightwing uncurled his fists from his eskrima sticks and returned them to his back, setting to work zip-tying the various mobsters and drug dealers.

"Batman, I'm done here," he informed the Caped Crusader on the other end. But all he got in return was a short static burst and a low tone signalling the line went dead. "Batman!" He repeated more urgently, though he knew it was futile.

Sighing, he started in the direction of his bike, all the while thinking of the (mostly gruesome) possibilities of the fate of his former mentor. But when he returned to his bike, it wasn't the way he left it. The back tire (or the space where it had been) was resting on three piled cement blocks.

"_Fuck!_" He hissed through his teeth. This was just what he needed to make his night perfect. Some street punk jacking one of his tires.

Looking around, he saw the retreating figure of a man, his tire under his arm. Shooting his grapple line up into the air, he tugged on it to check its security, then let himself be pulled up to the roof tops. He followed the street kid for about five minutes before he entered a shabby looking abandoned house at the end of an alleyway. Nightwing considered going in after, but he returned a moment later, tireless.

He got a clear look at his face, noting he was only about 15 or 16, lit cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of a leather jacket, pieces of jet black hair falling in his face. The unknown teen's head turned sharply, before his body followed suit. Nightwing followed his gaze, seeing a large, burly man holding an equally large knife. A sneer could be seen on his face as he approached.

Quick to react, the teen pulled out a significantly smaller knife from his pocket, then used his right hand to reach behind him, hand resting on the handle of a gun, but out of sight from the large man.

At that moment, Nightwing realized what this was going to turn into. The teen distracted the man with his knife, at the same time pulling out the gun and quite literally blowing his brains out. The vigilante grimaced at the colourful array of organs on the alley wall behind the newly dead corpse. The teen shook his head, nudging the body with his foot, then spitting on it. He tucked the gun away as if nothing had happened.

He turned to leave, then spotted Nightwing, who had jumped down from the roof moments earlier. He made to run, but halted as Nightwing grasped his wrist, snapping it when he tried to pull away. The teen sharply inhaled as the pain set in, biting his lip to avoid screaming in pain, tasting the distinct copper-taste of his own blood. Still, he tried once again to break free, swinging at Nightwing's face with his good hand. Ducking, Nightwing slammed his other hand to the teen's arm, pushing his against the wall.

"Do you _really_ want to go there? 'Cause I'm not gentle with killers." He said in a darkly.

"No _shit_,"

"Name," he demanded.

"...Jason," he said rather defiantly, looking the hero in the ey- lenses, he supposed.

"And him?" Nightwing gestured to headless corpse in the corner. "Who was he?"

"Karl Drevin, big time drug dealer. Mainly caters to kids, but does big shipments too," Jason said matter-of-factly. "I may have been stealing his stash lately, y'know, so the kids don't get it."

"Right," Nightwing said sarcastically. "It's all for the kids, you don't use any of it yourself," This brought forth a very strange reaction, in Nightwing's opinion.

"Why the hell would I do that?" he spat, glaring at the blue and black hero (who was still pinning him to the wall, for the record). "I just take it, throw it in the ocean."

"What's your reason for killing him?" Jason looked at him as if he were an idiot, missing a point that they had clearly discussed earlier. "He's deals to kids. Scum, this city is better off without him. I'm doing everyone a favour."

He could practically feel the skeptical look he was getting from behind the mask.

"Besides, he came on to me first. Self-defense, right?" Nightwing shook his head, pulling out handcuffs. "Wait, I can help! They have your friend, right? I know these people, lemme help! Just don't take me to the authorities, no one wants me anyways," He trailed off hopefully when the hero paused.

"I'm listening..."


	2. Check Your Hearing?

**Hello there. I'm glad I got positive feedback on my last chapter, your reviews made my day :) So I'm back with another chapter for you, as this kinda wrote itself. The words just… flowed.**

**Just a nice reminder that reviews make me happy and encourage me to continue with this story ;)**

**Disclaimer (as I forgot this last time): I don't own Batman, nor DC comics. This goes for chapter one too.**

* * *

"Eleven pm, I expect you to be here. Don't leave this part of town, kid. Trust me, I'll know if you do," Nightwing promised, looking the defiant teenager in the eye. He just scowled at him in return, jamming his hands in his pockets, his fingers brushing the empty space where his knife used to be.

His eyes found they're way to the pistol trapped within Nightwing's gloved fingers, the silver barrel gleaming in the moonlight.

"Sure. Whatever," he muttered, clearly unhappy with his current situation. He leaned back against the clay bricks that made up Crime Alley, glaring at the ground by his feet. Nightwing regarded him for a few moments.

"Well then, I'll be off," He said awkwardly, noticing a smile creep it's way onto Jason's face, but he quickly turned and started walking back into the shadier parts of Gotham. Nightwing shrugged, starting to trek back to his bike. It was only when he got there he realized why Jason was smiling.

He had forgotten to get his tire back.

* * *

When Nightwing returned to the Batcave, Alfred immediately noticed three things: One, he arrived on foot and dripping with rainwater. Two, he had a gun in one hand and a knife in the other, and three, he was alone.

The hero sighed, putting down the weapons on a table to the left of him with a metallic '_clunk_' sound. He pulled off his mask, and then collapsed into the large chair in front of the Bat Computer. Spinning to face the screen, he began what was sure to be an all-nighter.

"Shall I fetch you some coffee, Master Dick?" Alfred asked, having learned by now that it was easier to not ask questions and merely observe, a concept that both other residents of the manor could never seem to grasp.

"Yes please," Dick said, eyes glued to the screen. Somewhere in the back of his head, he thought that it was a miracle his and Bruce's eyesight hadn't been ruined by sitting so close to the large, bright screen so often.

_If you ever see him again, you can tell him that, _one of the many voices in his head sneered at him. Partial and reoccurring insanity came with the job, one of the many down sides. _Shut up, _the less mature voice snapped back, causing Dick to cup his head with his hands, taking a moment to sort out what was sure to become a mental World War III if he didn't deal with it now.

From the back of the cave, Alfred took pity on the young man he was currently looking at. He would always hold a little resentment at the fact Bruce had involved a child so young into the business. On the other hand, Alfred know that the only thing he could do right now was be there for the two vigilantes. And that was why he stayed, always being prepared with silver platter in hand and a few words of wisdom.

"Your coffee, sir," he said, snapping Dick out of his mental argument. He looked at Alfred and a weak smile broke out.

"Grateful," he said, gulping down the hot liquid. Feeling that the old English butler deserved some sort of explanation, he began at the beginning, explaining how Batman had gone missing, then his tire got jacked, and how he made a deal with a teenage murder who also happened to be the same one who stole his tires.

"-And that's why I walked home," he finished, analyzing the butler's mask, looking for a chink in the armor.

But Alfred honestly didn't know what to make out of this, so, naturally, he nodded, then offered to bake cookies.

Once Alfred had exited, Nightwing was left to his own devices. He considered calling Oracle, but then remembered that she was on holiday out of state for the week, so she wasn't an option. Due to his very obviously approachable nature, Batman didn't really make friends in the JLA, but maybe Clark would help? Figuring Superman had better things to do in Metropolis, Nighwing was left on his own.

He spend the rest of the night and early morning pouring through files, looking into the last location and goal of Bruce's leaving in the first place.

As always, Alfred stood vigil all night, helping where he could, and thinking of a dozen different scenarios that could result with no Nightwing. Dick would be a full time officer, perhaps married or dating a young woman.

But then he looked back to the body and chair illuminated by the screen lights, and the illusion was shattered.

* * *

Jason walked down the sidewalk, not quite sure where he was going. He was very much lost in thought, the events of the last night replaying through his head like an endless film reel (but who uses reels anymore?). Somehow, in a period of two hours, he stole a tire from a bike that he wasn't aware belonged to a vigilante, got almost attacked by a former big-time drug dealer, killed said drug dealer (in self defense of course), received a broken wrist from the formerly mentioned vigilante, lost his weapons, then got thoroughly blackmailed by him.

End result, he needed a smoke. And a beer. Beer would be nice.

At this notion, he decided to reroute his path, headed back to Crime Alley. He knew a guy who didn't care what age you were; as long as you had the cash in hand he'd sell you anything. This man went by the name of Daniel Cooper. He was, in Jason's opinion, very fucked up in the head, and because of that, dangerous.

All the same, he wanted a smoke.

He dug around in his pocket for some cash, then pulled out two twenties. Turning a corner, he found a man sitting on a crate, cigarette in hand.

"Hey, Jas'n!" He slurred, obviously drunk. "Usu'l, I guess?"

"You're as drunk as hell, Daniel," He informed the elder man, passing him the bills, receiving booze and smokes in return. "Don't kill yourself."

Jason shook his head, walking away while lighting the cigarette. Checking his watch, he noted that he had five minutes until he had to meet with Nightwing.

Making his way to the 'meeting place' that Nightwing had chosen, he sat down and cracked open the can of beer. Holding the cigarette gingerly between his fingers on his broken hand, he tilted the can forward and took a drink.

"That'll kill you one day,"

With an irritated sigh, Jason looked directly up to find Nightwing sitting on the edge of the roof. He preformed a double front flip, landing in the spot right before Jason's feet.

"Show off," he muttered. In a split second, Nightwing reached out and snatched the cigarette from his hands, crushing it under his foot.

"Fuck you," he spat, knowing that he couldn't do anything but curse at him. And so he did.

Nightwing just waved him off, also knocking over the open can of beer with the toe of his foot. Jason just scowled in the corner.

"Okay, what do you want me to do?" he asked, jumping straight to the subject at hand.

"There's a building in the Narrows, Batman was investigating it when he went missing," Nightwing supplied.

Jason raised an eyebrow. "I need a bit more than that to be helpful."

Though Jason couldn't see it, Nightwing was rolling his eyes.

"I am aware of that. As I was saying, it's in the Narrows. No address, but I can take you to it. I would have ridden my motorcycle, but _someone _took one of the tires."

Jason shrugged. "Sorry, dunno who has it now. It's long gone."

"So," Nightwing prompted. "I have the Batmobile. Get in the car."

The two got in the obsidian vehicle, then Nightwing slammed his foot on the gas pedal and the fun began. (Well, fun for Nightwing. Jason ended up grabbing the seat to stay in one place).

After much of this, Nightwing looked over at the teenager beside him. He didn't look particularly well, more nauseated than anything else.

"Motion sickness?" He questioned while getting out. Jason nodded weakly, feeling as if he was about to puke.

_Can blow someone's head off without even blinking, but feels sick from driving too fast in a car? Interesting._

"This is it. Recognize it?" He pointed to the dirty brick building to their lefts. Jason analyzed it for a moment before nodding.

"This is where the Blades hang out." At Nightwing's skeptical look, he continued. "Stupid name, I know. Anyways, their thing is mainly muggings and robberies, then mutilating the victim with knives." He said this so simply, like it was rather cutting up teddy bears and stealing candy from small children.

Nightwing went to approach the doors, Jason shaking his head.

"I wouldn't do that… They don't like heroes here. Come to think of it, nobody in the general area likes you. Can't say I'm any different though."

Nightwing ignored him, breaking down the large double doors with a well-placed kick. Jason's eyes widened as he heard voices growing louder from the inside.

"Shit! What the fuck'd you do that for?!" he shouted, ducking from the hail of bullets. He bit his tongue was one hit his thigh, sticky warmth rapidly spreading down his leg. After a moment, something flew by, grabbing him.

"Hold on," the now flying hero advised. Jason held on best he could, though he started to slip.

"I would, but _you_ rendered my left hand _useless._" He spat, clinging to the grapple line for dear life.

But soon it was over, as they landed on a flat rooftop within a minute. Jason let go, falling to the ground.

"Let me see where you got shot," Nightwing requested, crouching down in front of his wounded leg. Jason took this as an opportunity to rant at the other man.

"Why didn't you listen to me? I told you they were dangerous, but no, you couldn't have listened. Now they know Nightwing's back in town, and saw me with you. Thanks to you, I now have a death warrant on me and nobody will go near me!" He said, watching Nightwing completely ignore him. "Watch it! That's my leg, attached to my body. Therefore I can feel when you –goddamn it!" He was cut of as Nightwing may have been a little rough (totally by accident, of course) with the wound.

"A?" he spoke into his comm. "Prepare something for a guest to sleep on in the Batcave,"


	3. Too Much Red

**Hey guys, it's me again. I'm back with the third installment of Welcome to the Game. Unfortunately it's relatively short and there's not much action. It's more of a prelude to the events of the next few chapters (we need to throw Tim into the mix after all ;) I'm glad I've been getting positive feedback.**

**BUT; the shortness of this chapter does mean that number four will be up sooner than normal. So it's all good…**

**I will warn you that there is some more graphic violence in this chapter, so yeah… Hope you can live with that. **

**Remember, reviews are always appreciated. Tell me if there's something you like, dislike, or want to see and I'll do my best to cater to your wishes :)**

* * *

Alfred looked up as he saw the Batmobile roar into the cave, then stop. The absence of the engine left the cave with an eerie silence, though the shutting of a car door soon broke that. From the high vantage point of the cave, Alfred saw Nightwing start walking down the path carrying a body, leaving a trail of blood.

"Forgive me sir, but if you continue with recent habits I fear you may become a serial killer, though a very bad one, I might add. First bringing soiled weapons used in a murder to the cave, now carrying an unconscious body absolutely dripping with blood," The elderly man said while walking down the steps.

Nightwing looked up at him in relative surprised, as the man was not usually that dark. He mentally shrugged, as his arms were full. Speaking of which, he placed the body on a sterile white medical bed.

As Alfred offered to take care of the unconscious teenager, Nightwing sat down at the computer, tapping in the passcode. Then he set to work…

* * *

Jason opened his eyes, looking around at his surroundings. He was back in Crime Alley. Though something seemed off. The graffiti didn't look right, the tags were all different from the last time he saw them.

He found himself walking forwards, strangely unable to do anything of his own will. Then it occurred to him that he was having a dream… or a nightmare, most likely, if he was stuck back here.

As he was walking, he stared into a window, his reflection that of an eleven year old version of himself.

It was strange, having the same memories and mentality as his current form, but being stuck in a younger version of him. He decided that he had time to linger on these thoughts, as he knew exactly where his dream was headed. He had it sometimes, though not too frequently.

He rounded the corner to see a tall, muscular man, knife in hand, slamming a yiung boy his age against the unforgiving brick wall.

"Gimmie my drugs kid, or I'll cut your heart out!" he roared, making the younger boy wince.

"I didn't take anything, man! Just leave me alone, someone else stole your stash. It wasn't me, I've always paid you up front," the small boy defended weakly.

This boy happened to go by the name of Kyle. Just Kyle, he himself didn't know his last name. Was abandoned on the streets as a toddler. Somehow he made it through. He was even going to school and getting good grades.

Then the scumbag threatening him got him hooked on drugs, all sorts. A playground dealer, you could say.

And that resulted in this mess. It was a shame, as Kyle was Jason's only real friend at the time. But, as they say, street kids get thrown into this world violently, and leave the same way. It would be a miracle if you made it until eighteen.

Jason's hand was forced to his coat pocket where a smallish knife sat. He had swiped it from the kitchen years ago in case his dad ever tried to seriously harm him on a drunken rage.

Kyle looked over his way, spotted him, and then froze. Unfortunately, the drug dealer looked over with him, eyeing Jason and sneering.

"What'cha gonna do, twerp, go tell on me?"

Jason's hand tightened around the blade before pulling it out. In a flash, the big brute plunged his knife deep into Kyle's chest, all the way to the hilt. Then he brought it down, tearing his chest and stomach into two. Blood, so much blood poured out onto the ground, forming a small lake. It just barely touched the tips of his shoes, bits of unknown organs floating in the mix.

Seeing red, he let anger and rage take over, slamming his knife into the dealer's throat, a look of shock permanently etched into his features and he collapsed. He let the knife drop, realizing what he had done.

_I just killed a man, _he thought, taking a few steps backwards. _But… he deserved it. He fucked up Kyle's life, then killed him over nothing._

He didn't feel so sick anymore. It was justified, right. It was for Kyle.

_Kyle._

Jason dropped down to he knees at his friend's corpse, ignoring the warm sticky liquid seeping into his jeans. He tried his best to ignore everything but his face, as his body was a gory mess, as if from a horror movie.

The former sixth grader's bond hair was now red, his eyes glassy and unfocused. Jason felt numb, unfeeling to the world. His mind was purely centered on the remains of Kyle.

He felt tears threatening to spill, so he got up. He took a breath, wiped the kitchen knife off on the dealer's corpse, and then simply left.

* * *

Alfred's attention was drawn to Jason once again when his heart rate picked up, showing on the monitor. Nightwing swiveled in his chair, making sure his mask was still secured to his face.

Jason shifted slightly, and then his eyes snapped open. They darted around the cave, adjusting to the darkness.

"Where… where am I?" He swallowed, throat dry. Looking above him, he saw stalactites looming quite menacingly above him. Was it really the-

"Batcave," Nightwing confirmed.

Jason tried to focus on the screen, but his vision was still a little hazy.

"That Zach Markello?" He asked, confusion lacing his voice. "You're researching the Blades, aren't you? He's the-"

"Leader. Yes, I know."

Jason frowned, irritated that Nightwing kept finishing his sentences. "Yeah. Of course you do. Mind telling why the hell I'm here?"

Nightwing, on instinct, looked for Alfred to back him up, but he must have melted off into the shadows when nobody was looking. It was rather scary how he could do that…

"Three reasons. One, you are injured and as you pointed out earlier, are now a target for the Blades. Two, you have information that I need. The gossip of the criminal underworld, if you will. Three, I can't trust you not to murder more people."

He said it how it was, no sugar coating. Jason could appreciate that. Sure, Nightwing was a bit of a pain in the ass (and the wrist) sometimes, but he had a good head on his shoulders. Better him than some goddamn lunatic running around in tights.

"What do you know about Zachariah Markello?" Well he didn't waste anytime with the formalities…

"That depends. How much do you need to know?"


	4. Of Rubik's Cubes and Pianos

**Hey, long time no see. I'm sorry for the prominent lack of updates; homework has been a bitch since I'm nearing the end of the year. Anyways, it's mostly in control now, so that shouldn't be too much of a problem anymore. (I can't wait for summer). **

**As always, I appreciate reviews, always makes me happy to read another's opinion.**

**Also, I have a question for you. What do you want to see next? Tim will be introduced in the next two chapters, I believe, so that's dealt with. Any characters you want to be included? I'm planning on throwing Oracle in the mix too, but that's all. (And for all you anons out there, you are allowed to review and suggest stuff too!)**

**Oh, and I hope you guys all understand Alfred's actions in this chapter. If not, just ask.**

**Enjoy**

**Disclaimer (because I suck at remembering): This goes for past, present and future. I don't own DC comics, and I won't for the rest of this story.**

* * *

Nightwing raised an eyebrow, looking at Jason as if he didn't quite believe that he was making demands. Jason, feeling defensive, crossed his arms, looking at the space to the left of Nightwing's face.

"Let me get this straight," the vigilante started. "You are currently sitting in a bed in _my _cave, being cared for by _me _and _my_ friend, because _I _took you here instead of the GCPD, where you would be charged for theft, murder, alcohol abuse, and who knows what else you've done and locked up in Juvenile Hall for years to come. And you're acting like I owe you, or something."

Jason felt heat rise to his cheeks, but his pride forced him to keep up the façade.

"I wouldn't even need our medical attention if it weren't for you acting like a fucking moron and ignoring me, causing my injuries."

Nightwing shook his head, using his foot to pivot the chair so it faced the computer once again. Jason felt pretty damned awkward right now, hearing only the tapping of the keyboard in response to his statement.

"You are going to help me Jason, unless you'd rather pay up for your crimes. You don't have any say in the matter."

Jason fixed his glare to the back of Nightwing's chair, though he wasn't really mad.

You see, in order to be taken somewhat seriously in Gotham's criminal underworld, one would have to act like your classic criminal. For most, this wasn't hard. After all, the two went together perfectly. All criminals want to be taken seriously, opposed to being one of many muggers and pickpockets.

For Jason, this wasn't really the case. Yes, he wanted to be known. The more people that know his name, the faster word will spread. Granted, this plan results in many attempting to murder him for theft and his other assorted crimes. But in the end, he found that it was difficult for him to be that stereotypical criminal.

So, he learned to act. At thirteen, he first started little; snatch drugs from the playground dealer's pocket when he wasn't looking, make their lives difficult.

Then, one day, the adults started to notice, the teenage dealers unable to hide the fact that somehow their drugs just weren't there. To the adults in charge, it seemed like they had just picked the wrong people to sell, since it seemed they were using the most part.

But a pattern started to occur. People really started to notice. So, Jason had to step up his game, as he was being searched for. Eventually his nights would be spent literally running for his life through alleyways, hiding behind his hood.

As he got older, the crimes got serious. Murder, for starters. He wasn't sure what happened, but his act was slowly entwining with himself.

Then he ended up here. In the Batcave, now leaning on a single crutch trying to keep his balance, standing behind Nightwing and reading over his shoulder. Verifying information, mostly, but sometimes speaking without being prompted.

Thankfully, as Alfred informed him, the bullet only grazed his leg (which was good, because Jason really didn't want to be using a cane or something similar for the next few months).

In about a week, Nightwing had just been going in circles looking for Batman. Was he even still in Gotham? In the country? What would be motive for taking him?

To Jason, it was interesting to see the vigilante in regular clothes, but with a mask. It made him seem more human in a way. Less of a symbol, more a person. Like he actually had a life outside of beating criminals to a pulp.

At the same time, it made the thought of pitching himself off one of the many cliffs in the Batcave out of pure boredom even more tempting. There was only so much he could help with while sitting in front of a computer. He wasn't even that good with the machines, having never owned one. He needed to get outside.

At one point he voiced his boredom to Nightwing, who in response tossed him a Rubik's cube that had been sitting on the desk.

Jason rolled his eyes, and then finished it within an hour. Having learned the trick to solving a Rubik's cube when he was eight, it didn't take him too long to remember it and solve the plastic toy.

Even after his leg healed, he was forbidden to leave the cave due to his mending wrist. His opinion didn't waver after Jason pointed out that Nightwing was the reason for that particular problem. The hero didn't say anything, but almost acted apologetic? Jason wasn't quite sure.

Either way, it was still very obvious that he didn't trust the street kid enough to let him outside.

It was the afternoon; Alfred had just given him lunch. Maybe it was just a forgetful moment for the elderly man, or perhaps he was so used to Jason's presence, he didn't disappear into the shadows after ascending the large staircase. Instead he left through an exit on the bottom floor, the same level as Jason, opening a door that slid open from where it had been concealed.

As the butler's back retreated and the door started to shut, Jason made a snap decision. Seeing that he was alone in the cave, he sprinted to the door and crammed his fingers into the crack between the door and the wall. Grimacing from the amount of pressure, he counted to twenty to assure the butler was far enough away. Then, bracing himself, he opened the door.

Whatever he was expecting, what he saw was not it. In front of him was a very domestic looking room, perhaps a living room? A grand piano was against the wall to his right. Taking a few cautious steps to the doorframe, he peered down the corridor. Paintings lined the wall, very old paintings.

Upon closer inspection, he saw that all the inscriptions had one thing in common: they all had the name Wayne.

The realization sunk into him, and he hurried down the hall swiftly and silently. This led him to a large foyer, one he had seen in the newspaper whenever one of Bruce's Wayne's parties made the front page.

He was in Wayne Manor. The connections started forming, between Bruce Wayne and Batman, Dick Grayson and Nightwing. And then he heard footsteps behind him and turned around, expecting the worst.

He ended up face to face with Dick Grayson, and he didn't look happy.

"Mind explaining what you are doing here?"

"Uh, no?" he tried, receiving an exasperated look in return. "Alfred left through a different door, and I grabbed it before it closed and then wound up here, I guess."

"Alfred?" Dick asked, the butler having been in the room since shortly after Dick had entered.

"It was an accident on my part, sir. Terribly sorry."

His words sounded quite genuine, but judging by the look in his eyes, Jason suspected that, for some reason, it was not an accident. Dick seemed to think the same thing, resulting in his frown deepening. He didn't look mad, really. More tired than anything else.

Dick sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Okay then. Jason, if you tell anyone-"

"Now why would I do that?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why should I care if you're Nightwing? That's your problem, not mine,"

"Okay then. I…" he paused for a moment, thinking. "I need more coffee before I deal with this."


	5. Socially Acceptable,Amongst Other Things

**Hello there, how fair thee? I'm happy to say that this chapter hit 2136 words, or 7 pages in Word. Very happy indeed. I also have enough time to set up an update schedule. Every Monday, to be precise. I have some oneshots lined up, so those should be appearing soon.**

**And here we have the appearance of Tim Drake! I'm super happy to have found a spot to stick him in, and he'll be the third main character in this story.**

**As always, reviews fuel me to write, I want to hear from you guys and I hope you enjoy! :) **

* * *

Dick sighed, leaning on his elbows at a table. His mug of coffee was in front of him, his eyes following the trail of steam up to the roof. He was alone, as Alfred was giving Jason a tour of the mansion. He knew that the butler had shown Jason the exit on purpose, to teach him a lesson. On what? He was pretty certain the Alfred had been unhappy with the way he was acting around the teenager. But what was he supposed to do? He had too many things on his mind to worry about making a teenager feel like part of the family.

To his left, a small pile of papers sat, not a single one out of place. He was momentarily confused, before he remembered their purpose.

Bruce was hosting a charity fundraiser. All money was going to be spent towards improving the schools within the nastier side of Gotham, for the orphans and the street kids who couldn't attend regular public school.

He paused in his thinking, now curious if Jason had ever attended such a place. For that matter, was he in school now? How many years of teaching had he missed out on?

The sound of footsteps behind him brought him out of his mass of thoughts.

"Finished already?" He asked, turning in his chair to look at the pair.

"Yes Master Richard," Alfred answered. "I see you have found the papers for tomorrow's charity ball. Might I recommend-"

"That's _tomorrow_?"

"Quite so, sir. I take it from your reaction you were not aware?"

Dick shook his head. "I'm guessing that I need to fill in for Bruce?"

"Yes, sir. If you would like, I could attempt to cancel it, but…"

"No, it's for a charity after all. I can't do that," out of the corner of his eye he noiced Jaosn trying to slip away. "Jason, I don't see why you'd be leaving now. You're coming, after all." There, he dropped the bomb.

Confusion spread across the teen's face. "Why would I have to go to your stupid party for stuck up snobs?"

"I need to go for Bruce, and Alfie's, well… buttling? What is it you do at those things anyways? No matter, I'm not leaving you alone here."

Jason seemed rather conflicted, teetering between anger and laughter. He had never been to a function before, and the only parties he'd been at were his dad's crooked friends getting high in the living room while watching football.

"I'm sure we can devise a story to explain your presence," Alfred put forth, as if that would make everything better.

"Yeah, you can be my distant cousin or something," Dick offered, making Jason mumbled curses under his breath.

And so, Alfred and Dick spent a large part of the afternoon going through tux fitting, shoe sizing and giving Jason a haircut, something he had trouble with.

You see, the first thing wrong, in Jason's mind, was that there was a total stranger tugging and pulling at his hair, which hurt like a bitch. Secondly, she continued to wave her (sharp!) scissors around near his face as she flirted with Dick, almost taking out his eye. Thirdly, Jason grew up in Crime Ally. As the name suggests, there were a lot of crimes being committed, along with the homicidal maniacs and the murderers. So naturally, he didn't feels comfortable always exposing his neck.

When it was finally over, Jason stood by the door for five minutes as the hairdresser flirted with Dick. Even more disgusting, Dick _flirted back. _

Jason glanced at the clock, about to drag Dick away if he didn't hurry up.

The hairdresser twirled a finger in her hair, her other hand supporting her against the desk.

"I did it myself. Do you like it?" she asked, tugging slightly on the lock of platinum blonde. Dick gave her a flashy smile before responding.

"It's very pretty, just like you."

She smiled slyly, the leaned in closer to his ear. "Wanna know where it would look best? Between your legs."

Jason wished that he hadn't heard that comment, then gave a fake cough, throwing "slut" in between them. He then proceeded to grab Dick's arm, marching out with him, leaving the hairdresser looking affronted.

"Jason!" The elder hissed, wrenching his arm away. "That was out of line."

Jason shrugged, scowling. "It was true. You heard her, give another five minutes and she would have been stripping for you!"

Dick only shook his head disapprovingly, though privately agreeing with him. The car ride back was spent in awkward silence, one that carried on through dinner.

Alfred hung up the suit, and then showed Jason his new room. When left alone, Jason looked around more thoroughly. Flipping through the clothes in the closet (how did they know his size?) opened the window and sticking his head outside. Opening it all the way, he mentally mapped out a way to the roof. Retreating back inside, he sat on the mattress of his new bed, looking around from there.

Noticing a bookshelf, he got up and read the title, occasionally flipping through one. Near the bottom, he paused, seeing textbooks. Kneeling on the ground, he found them to be mainly for eight, ninth and tenth grade.

Instinctively looking around, he pulled out a math text from each grade, the bed cross-legged on the bed and just looked at them, as if afraid to open one. He had never attended a real school, just one of the fake school on the streets.

He looked to his sides, and found a notepad and some pencils in a drawer in the nightstand.

Flipping the eight-grade text open, he began to read through the lessons, starting to make up years of missed education…

* * *

Dick knocked on the polished wooden door the next morning, rather sleepily. Alfred had sent him to wake up Jason. Lately he had noticed the butler pushing them together every chance he got. Strange, but he let it drop.

"Jason?" He got no reply, waited a moment, and then opened the door. A bit thrown by the sight in front of him, he rubbed his eyes.

Jason was leaning against the wall, still asleep, a math textbook still open in front of him with problems scrawled out on a pad of paper that had slid to the floor.

Confused as to why he even had textbooks in the house, it took him a moment to remember that Tim liked to look at them for a challenge. Dick enjoyed looking after the kid, who was very bright for being only eleven.

The noise and presence of Dick roused Jason out of his sleep, and he looked up around him.

During a moment, things started to click and Jason blushed, removing the text and paper.

"I, uh, it wasn't…" he trailed off, seeing Dick smile.

"Alfred's getting breakfast. Be down in about five minutes," he informed him, and then walked back downstairs to the dining room, sitting at the empty table. His phone buzzed, signaling a new email.

As he started to reply (it was his boss), Jason walked in and found a seat. No one said a word for a minute, then Dick shut off his phone and put it in his pocket.

"Are you in school, Jason?" he had to ask, as it had been nagging at him since he found out the subject of that night's charity ball.

Jason blushed slightly. "Uh, not right now. I mean, there aren't many schools in crime ally, and some cost money so I couldn't afford it. I used to go up until fifth grade, after that I stopped."

Dick nodded, thinking. "That's the theme of the ball tonight. A charity to improve those schools."

Jason shook his head. _Won't make a fucking difference. It'll just go to the director, who'll use it for drugs, liquor and hookers no doubt._

Although he couldn't tell exactly what his thoughts were, Dick got a pretty good idea from the youth's face.

Luckily Alfred's food saved them from further awkward conversations.

During the remainder of the morning, Dick went down to the cave to check up on some files and Jason retreated to his room.

Climbing onto the roof, (almost slipping once) he sat, almost level with the trees.

Fumbling in his pocket for the box of smokes and the lighter he had snuck past Dick, he light one up, looking sadly upon the almost empty carton. He would have to find a way to get more eventually.

Soon, the afternoon turned to evening, reining in on the charity function, which Jason was dreading.

He had to get Dick to fix his tie, as he had never worn one in his life. The red cloth was far too tight, (apparently red was his colour) and his hair felt strange.

He rand a hand through it when Dick was busy adjusting his blue tie and white collar in the mirror. And then the people came flooding through the double doors when Alfred opened them.

Food was eaten, champagne sipped. Jason mainly followed Dick around, being introduced to people, shaking hands left, right and center. It was painfully obvious that he wasn't a socialite like them, causing some to ignore him all together.

At one point Dick had to pull him aside to reprimand him for his behavior. ("Jason, it's not socially acceptable to curse at the mayor's wife.")

While Dick was chatting with some rich lady (was her name Susanna?), he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. Excusing himself, he turned around and smiled at the person in front of him.

"Hey Timmy. How's going?"

The small middle schooler gave some indecisive answer, then asked the question that had been clawing at him.

"So who's your friend?" he gestured to Jason, who had just now turned to face them.

"Jason, Tim. Tim, Jason." At the slightly irritated look given to him by Tim, Dick tacked on:

"I'll explain later."

Jason sized up Tim, while the latter merely felt awkward. Jason's attention was ripped from him when he heard Susanna talking to another friend.

"I really wish daddy hadn't forced me to come here. I don't even see the point in being here, if the money's just going to a bunch of kid junkies that live on the streets,"

His fists balled, but Dick's voice appeared from behind him.

"Jason…"

"Dick," he started, turning. "Is it socially acceptable to go over and deck her?"

Dick smiled, but shook his head while Tim smirked. "Negative."

Jason frowned, slipping off the champagne flutes.

Dick started talking to Tim, inviting him over for the night so he could explain Jason's presence in more detail.

Yes, the kid genius had ID'd Batman and Robin at 9 years old, and revealed that he had been stalking them for years. Since then, they had become like brothers, and Bruce like his father.

Jason returned, nudging Dick. "You need to give a speech now. Have fun."

Dick internally groaned, as he hated giving speeches. In reality, no one here cared much about schools in Crime Ally, they wanted attention and had to keep up the act.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I'm afraid Bruce couldn't make it, so…"

Dick continued his speech, playing the part of a socialite.

Meanwhile in the audience, Jason was cycling through fidgeting with his hands, clenching them into fists and shuffling in his spot, the knowledge that it was all for nothing hanging over his head.

Tim noticed this, and was a bit confused. Did Jason have some relation to the subject? Something was clearly bothering him, it was obvious to him. Then again, Tim was quite perceptive for 11, noticing things that some adults didn't.

A sudden applause brought the two out of their respective states of thought, and they saw Dick leave the stage and head their way.

"Can we leave now?" Jason requested, tugging at his cuffs as they were making him itchy.

"Yeah, I'll go tell Alfred. Jason, you and Tim can meet me further inside." At Jason's raised eyebrow, he explained. "Timmy is staying the night. He also wants to know more about why you're here. He knows about the basement."

It took Jason a moment to translate 'basement' to 'Batcave", but he just went with it, pushing his way to an exit.

Tim watched the older male make a path for himself, and was intrigued by his character, and why he acted the way he did. Shrugging, he slipped through the sea of people, making his way out of the crowd.

Dick, however, wasn't certain that the two would get along. He could make educated guesses on Jason's reaction, but really didn't know him well enough to say.

Either way, the two would be interesting together…

* * *

**-Project K-0S**


	6. Burns, Poker and Severed Limbs

…**Hi? Don't kill me? I'm really sorry about the lack of updates, but the reality was that I literally had no time for neither writing, nor anything else but schoolwork.**

**But now school's over, and I'm free! So to celebrate I wrote this chapter. In case you were wondering, yes, you'll also get a chapter on Monday. And I'm working on a new oneshot as well, so I think that should be ready next weekend? I hope so.**

**As always, I hope you enjoy reading.**

* * *

Tim loosened his tie as he walked into the study, stopping in front of his usual chair to completely remove the strip of cloth and shrug off his coat before proceeding to seat himself.

He noticed Jason sitting across the room from him, unknotting his tie. To be honest, Tim was curious about him and the way he acted. He defiantly had an aggressive personality, that was obvious. Possibly violent, depending on where he came from. He had shown signs of discomfort in a room full of socialites, so not from a rich or famous family.

"You done analyzing me, 'cause the staring is getting creepy," Jason interrupted his train of thought, a look of mild annoyance gracing his face. Time blinked, realizing that he was staring, and apologized.

"You just seem like an interesting person," he said before thinking. _That won't make things awkward…_

"I seem interesting?"

"Yes, that's what I said, no?"

Jason shook his head. "If you say so."

"You and Dick," Tim started, hoping that he wasn't coming across as too strange. "You act like you want nothing to do with him, and he doesn't see, to know what to make of you. Why is that?"

The teenager frowned, starting to feel defensive. "I _don't_ want anything to do with him, I'm only here to avoid prison." Seeing Tim's slight reaction of surprise, he continued, a dark smile starting to appear. "I've done bad things, you see. I've killed people, stolen from then."

_His defensive reaction appears to be taking the offensive, also changing the subject. _Tim noted, all the while keeping a rather impassive face.

"First started when I was your age, stabbed a guy in the throat. You ever thought about what that feels like, to be able to choose whether someone lives or dies?" he leered, clearly trying to unbalance the kid.

To give him some credit, it was starting to work, though Tim didn't show it.

"You can't play God, Jason."

"Can't I? I think I make a damn fine judge, jury, and executioner. But then again, what would you know about that? I'm sure you've lived a fine life, going to your private schools, living in the upper class. Never had anything go wrong, have you?"

Tim subconsciously started the ball his hands into fists, glaring at Jason.

"Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about," he said through gritted teeth. Jason smirked, now the one observing Tim's actions. Clenched jaw, fists, he was clearly making this one angry.

"Did I hit a nerve? Something about mommy and daddy?"

Before Tim could reply, Dick entered, having finally escaped from the crowds. He could sense the tension between the two, but chose to ignore it.

"So, Timmy. This is Jason. I take it you had time to talk?" he said, trying to brighten up the room with a smile. So far, it wasn't working, but he tried nonetheless.

"Yes, we did," Tim replied, an edge to his voice. "Talk indeed."

"Well then," Dick said, desperately searching for something to say. "How was the party, Jason?" He then mentally cringed, as this question wasn't the best suited for the situation at the moment.

"Horrible."

"Great… I'm going to be downstairs in the Cave, if any of you need me. Don't kill each other, Alfred hates removing bloodstains."

The two sat in silence for a moment longer, and then Jason got up, muttering something about 'getting out of the monkey suit'. This left Tim to his own thoughts, in one of his favourite places to be in the manor.

He remembered that he had brought his bag with him, and reached to his right, grabbing the strap. Dragging it closer, he pulled out his laptop and opened it on his lap. Immediately photos popped up, as he had been going through some of the more recent ones the night before.

He shifted his weight to get more comfortable in the large armchair, and then resumed where he had left off.

* * *

Something about Tim annoyed Jason, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Tugging at his jacket he removed that, then unbuttoned the collared dress shirt, soon to join the jacket on his bed.

After putting on something more comfortable, he fiddled with the bandages on his wrist, rewrapping them tighter. He could almost take then off, an event he looked forward to.

Then he proceeded to climb out the window, and open the carton of cigarettes. To his dismay, there was one remaining. Pulling it out anyways, he lit the small cylinder and put it to his mouth.

Using his other hand he crumpled the empty cardboard. _Damned socialites, thinking they know everything. And that kid, trying to psychoanalyze me… It was working too. Can't he keep out of other people's lives? _

_None of them can, or will. After all, I'm just here to give Dick the information that I know about gangs and such, the details of the streets. After that…_

Jason realized that he didn't know what would become of him after this was all over.

_Dick finds Batman, then what? Juvie? Maybe if I'm lucky I'll go back to the streets? Can I even call that lucky? At least I have respect, for starters._

A rapidly growing pain in his fingertips brought him out of thought, and he released the cigarette, seeing it fall down onto the grass. He examined the burn marks on the two of his fingers. The skin was red, starting to blister. He cursed and went back inside, running his fingers under the tap.

Grimacing, he shut of the water and stuck his hand in his pocket, proceeding as normal. He was rather good at acting so, after all.

* * *

Dick shut off the Batcomputer, picking up his mask from where he left it last. Applying spirit gum, he put it on, starting up his bike. Pulling a helmet over his head, he then swung a leg over the bike and left the cave.

"_Nightwing,"_ a familiar voice spoke in his ear.

"Long time, no see, Oracle. How was vacation?"

He pictured her rolling her eyes behind the lenses of her glasses. Keep work stuff at work, home at home, he was always told. She never liked mixing the two environments, after all.

"_Good," _she replied flatly. _"So Batman's gone missing?"_

"Yeah, a while ago. I've been doing some research, and I believe that a street gang was hired to take him down. Who hired them, I don't know." He reported.

"The Blades, right? Stupid name, by the way. Real… macho."

Nightwing slowed to a stop, leaving his bike and helmet in the shadows of a building before climbing up the fire escape and onto the roof. Peering through the skylights (why would anyone make a _warehouse _have _skylights?_) he saw a group of three men playing some variation of poker. Based on the tattoos running down their arms, they were Blades; and proud of it.

For a few minutes, he decided to merely observe, watching the poker game. The guy on the left seemed to be winning, followed by a rather chubby man on the right. The man in the center was significantly smaller, and appeared to be losing big time.

"_Nightwing," _a voice hissed in his ear. _"Stop watching the poker game, you're getting distracted."_

"One second, Oracle," he responded. The game ended, though the loser seemed, well, terrified. Interested in hearing what was going on, he found a small hole in the corner of the glass pane and fed a mic through.

"You lose, Tommy," the chubby one said, standing up. The one from the left joined him.

"I want to collect my winnings now. Give them to me."

The smaller one started backing up, ready to bolt to the door, but Chubby tackled him first. Leftie kneeled down beside them, grabbing the smaller one's arm and extending it outwards, parallel to the floor.

"No, no, god no, please, I wasn't serious! I take it back!" he cried out, thrashing and kicking. The winner made a clicking sound with his mouth.

"Now, now, Tommy, you knew what betting meant. You knew the risks of playing with us, of joining us in the first place. Now I want my prize."

The winner lined up his knife with Tommy's wrist, making sure it was straight. Then he lifted the knife up high above his shoulder.

Nightwing realized what was going to happen seconds too late, the knife came down just as he broke through the glass. Tommy howled in pain, the stench of blood quickly taking over the air. The other two men look up at Nightwing, only to be promptly knocked out cold.

He crouched next to Tommy, feeling for a pulse. Drawing his hand away, he bowed his head for a moment. The man in front of him was dead due to blood loss, because of a poker game. (But who bets their limbs in a poker game?)

After getting up, he set to work tying up the two thugs that were knocked out cold.

He had a few questions to ask…

* * *

**Just a question, do you think that my characters are OOC? Would you mind telling me in reviews/PM? Thanks :)**


	7. Help?

**Hey, look who's actually updating on schedule! Here I present chapter seven, I believe. It was… interesting to write. Hope you enjoy,**

**-Project K-0S**

* * *

When the two thugs came to, they found themselves with their hands tied behind their backs with zipties. The second thing they noticed was the vigilante walking into the room.

"Would you look who's awake," he said, standing a few feet away from the two. "Maybe you can give me some answers?"

Leftie shook his head, though seeming very relaxed for his situation. A gloved hand grabbed his jaw, turning his head to look at Nightwing.

"What if I say 'please'?" he tried, releasing his grasp.

"Not tellin' you anything," the thug muttered from where he sat against the wall. Nightwing decided to try the other man, who was trying, it seemed, to free his hands. A swift kick to the side made him groan, though he kept at it.

"Who hired you and your gang?" he demanded, waiting for a moment before punching Chubby in the jaw. "Answer me!"

Instead of answering he only smiled, starting to laugh, muttering something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"D-distraction," the thug repeated before a heavy thud sounded behind him. Turning around, Nightwing saw Leftie lying on the ground. Going closer to investigate, he started making a gurgling sound, foam, tinted pink from his own blood started to emerge from between his lips.

"Dammit," Nightwing cursed, rolling the now limp body over. No pulse. Turning, he saw the chubby man in the same state. Untying their makeshift cuffs, he checked for anything out-of-the-ordinary. Finding his right fist clenched tightly, he tried to pry it open, having to resort to breaking a few of his fingers to open the hand.

Sticking out of the palm was a small dart, as it appeared. He plucked it and placed it in a plastic bag, saving it for later examination. Checking the other man, he found the same thing.

_What has them so afraid to talk that they'll commit suicide? Or rather, who?_

* * *

When Alfred walked into the study, he couldn't help but smile. Tim's laptop was still open, sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He, however, was curled up in the large armchair; clutching his camera to his chest, sound asleep.

Pulling a blanket from a nearby basket, he draped it over the slumbering child, then turned off the lights and left.

Hearing the muffled sound of a motorcycle, he assumed that Dick had returned.

When he reached the Batcave, he realized that he was correct in that assumption.

"How was patrol, Master Dick?"

Nightwing sighed and took out the two darts, displaying them to Alfred for a moment.

"Two thugs killed another, then used these to commit suicide when I tried to question them. Must have had them in their back pockets," he replied, starting to run tests on them.

"Well then, don't stay up too late," Alfred said before departing. This left Dick alone, the only sounds being the hum of electronics and the occasional flutter of wings coming from the dark corners of the cave. He began to take off his costume, changing into something more comfortable while the computer analyzed the darts.

"_Substance study complete."_

He turned around as the robotic voice of the BatComputer broke the silence.

"_47.842% potassium cyanide. 28.49% mercury. 23.668% unknown."_

Dick frowned at the last report. _Unknown? The computer has hundreds of recorded substances, even if this one was somewhat related to another, it would have informed me. To bypass it completely… Well, I can be sure that someone's supplying the Blades with this poison, there's no way they could do it themselves._

Checking the time, he decided to take heed of Alfred's words and get some sleep.

_Just a few more hours, _he promised himself.

* * *

The next morning, Dick walked into the dining room yawning. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Alfred giving him a disapproving glare. It was obvious the "a few more hours" didn't stick.

He sat down at the table where Alfred placed a plate with his breakfast in front of him. The elderly man retreated back into the kitchen, leaving the three others in peace.

Tim remained quiet, using his fork and knife to cut his pancakes into square pieces. Unknown to everyone else, they were all squares of exactly 3.5cm2, but that wasn't a piece of information he wished to share.

Jason prodded at his food for a moment before spying the syrup on the table. He reached for it with his hand, though a second later he felt someone's fingers snake around his wrist. He looked around to see Dick attached to said hand.

"The hell?" he snapped, trying to jerk it away.

"Jason," Dick started. "Mind telling me why you have burn marks… _In between _your fingers?"

Jason couldn't think of anything to say to this, and the pair of bright blue eyes staring at him weren't helping matters.

"I, uh… don't know?"

"You've been smoking again, haven't you? I bet if I look around outside I'll find the cigarette that burned you on the lawn, no?" Jason looked down, not wanting to meet the other's eyes. When he finally did, anger and disappointment pierced him.

Tim looked between the two, not quite sure how to react, so he remained quiet.

"Have you been drinking too? I thought I took everything away when I first brought you here, but I guessed I missed something. I trusted you to be alone in the house, but I guess not. Have you been stealing too?"

Jason clenched his jaw before ripping his wrist out of Dick's grip.

"Says the former gypsy," he muttered.

"What did you just say?" Dick demanded in a rather cold tone. Jason met his gaze, picking up on the effect his words had.

"Oh, you heard me. I just find it hard to accept that I'm sitting here being accused of stealing by a former _gypsy. _The irony."

Dick stood up, leaving the room. Moments later the front door could be heard closing.

Tim looked at Jason, as if asking him hundreds of unanswered questions. That look Jason had been receiving a lot, and it was really starting to grate on his nerves. After a minute of awkward silence, Jason got up and left, leaving Tim alone. Sighing, he continued to finish his breakfast, the only sound accompanying him the scratch of his fork on his plate and birds chirping outside.

* * *

Dick wasn't quite sure where he was going. His senses were dull to the autumn winds tugging at his hair, or the crushing of leaves underfoot.

Eventually he found himself standing before two headstones. He sunk to his knees in front of them, staring at the names engraved in the cold gray stone.

For a while, he just sat there, tuning everything else out.

"Mom, Dad?" he said quietly. "I don't know what to do. Bruce is missing, and I can't find him. I'm all alone, and I just can't do it," he started to feel his eyes tear up, and wiped at them with his sleeve.

"I can't just leave Tim alone all the time, his parents are never there either. I have to protect him and make sure he stays safe. Then Jason… I don't know what I was thinking; I just needed to help him. He's only 15, and I just couldn't leave him there on the streets, he would eventually get himself killed.

I-I just can't have all this responsibility. I feel so alone…"

He took a shaky breath before continuing.

"Mi-e dor. Am nevoie să mă ajuți."

* * *

**Translation: I miss you. I need you to help me.**


	8. Runaways and Replacements

I** just wanted to say thanks to Diamone, C Elise, kagome04, 5Star, AJCrane, Kikkiyoshi-Star, xingxing724, ricestalk-2004, CrazyDyslexicNerd, and won't be the Victim for all reviewing at least once so far :) It's been great to have positive feedback so far, and I hope it continues.**

**And yes, I know. Today's a Friday. I've actually been camping for the past week, so this is the first chance I've gotten to post in a while. Hope it's satisfactory.**

**-Project K-0S**

* * *

The day went by with no sign of Dick, the young man choosing to stay away from the manor. The skies were beginning to darken fast, the sun lowering. He took this as his cue to return, not wanting to worry Alfred.

When he opened the door, he found Tim crossing the foyer, headed to his rooms.

"You're back."

He didn't pose this as a question, nor an exclamation, merely a statement. Dick nodded, making sure to keep his shoes from dirtying the polished white tiles, sparkling like someone had just cleaned them. (Alfred did tend to clean and bake a lot when something was concerning him).

"Where's Jason? I want to talk with him,"

Tim began fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, pausing before saying anything.

"He went to his room after you left."

Dick sensed he was hiding something, but felt far too tired to pry any further. He walked up the wooden steps to the bedrooms and knocked on Jason's door. He paused, giving the teenager some time to respond.

Only silence greeted him, so he opened the door to see the window wide open. Walking forward to investigate, he found no trace of Jason.

"Dammit," he hissed, sticking his head out the window.

"You shouldn't say bad words."

On instinct, Dick's head jerked up at the sound of a voice, hitting the top of the windowsill. Wincing, he turned around to find Tim standing behind him, trying to look innocent. It was working too, but there was a glimmer in his eyes. Amusement, Dick decided.

"God, Timmy, don't do that."

Tim gave a small 'mhm' in reply, shifting his position so Dick could leave the room. He stared at his retreating figure, shaking his head. _Jason just wants to be left alone, Dick. Why are you so intent on finding him?_

* * *

It was cold out, the wind blowing scraps of paper through the alleyways, rain starting to spit from the sky. The waves of the ocean crashed against the stone barriers in a rhythmic fashion. The occasional shout or scream split the silence, maybe a gunshot to accompany the cries.

It all sounded like home to Jason, perched on a crate in a small alley, cigarette in one hand, bottle of booze in the other. As much as he hated everything about the Crime Alley area, he still called it home.

He dropped the cigarette on the ground, crushing it under his toe.

"You!" The voice came from behind, prompting Jason to turn. Something hit him full force, knocking him to the ground. He struggled to catch his breath, looking around in a daze. Blinking, he realized that a large man, currently pinning him down, had tackled him.

"So you're the infamous Jason Todd, huh?" he said, his hands closing around Jason's throat, applying pressure. "You killed my brother."

Jason tried to swing at him, but his arms were being held to the ground. Looking around desperately, he saw his bottle from earlier lying on the pavement. Reaching out to the side, he grabbed the first fragment of glass he could. After getting a firm grip, he forced it to his attacker's face.

The larger man let out a howl of pain when the glass met his eye, staggering back. Blood dripped onto the ground, making a wet sound, almost like rain. Jason stood up, punching the man in the jaw, and then proceeding to knee him in the gut, pushing him against the wall. He slid to the ground with a moan of pain, clutching at his bloody eye.

Jason made to stab his attacker in the throat, but a hand grasped his arm, twisting it. The glass made a small clattering noise as it hit the ground then was crushed under a foot clad in black.

"What do you think you're doing?" an all too familiar voice demanded.

"God damn it, Nightwing, leave me the fuck alone!" Jason snapped, pulling out of his grasp.

"I think I've made it clear that's not going to happen, Jason. Now get back to the bike, it's parked by the road," he said while gesturing to the mouth of the alley.

Jason stayed still for a moment before starting to go, very reluctantly, in the direction he was pointed.

"I guess the rumors were true."

He turned around to see the bloody man looking at him, sneering. "You are Nightwing's little bitch."

Before either of them could react, Jason kicked the man in the face, eliciting a shriek of pain as the shoe connected with the ruined eye.

Nightwing seized his arms, dragging him out of the allyway. No words were exchanged, though the atmosphere conveyed an entire conversation. It didn't take a genius to see that Nightwing was fuming, that was for sure. An air of defiance surrounded Jason, the two combined made a very awkward trip back to the manor.

* * *

No more than two minutes after the duo had exited the Batcave Alfred was informed that Jason was officially grounded. He was to be watched at all times, sensors placed on his window to prevent any further breakouts.

But instead of going up to his room, he tailed behind Dick as he began to walk to the study.

"The Blades probably took Batman to the Middle East somewhere, to their boss," he informed him, making it clear that he wasn't completely useless during his absence. Dick stopped, waiting a moment before saying anything.

"I know. Tim hacked the national database, got the records of, well, everything strange on the past week."

"Oh," Jason said rather hollowly, looking at the ground. The two stood in an awkward silence before Jason walked off, questions spinning in his head.

_What does he need me for? He's got Tim, I don't even no why I'm still here. He's already doing my "job" 10x better than I ever could…_

While walking, he collided with another body. The next words that left Jason's mouth were spoken as if they were poison.

"Out of my way, _Replacement_."


	9. Stowaways Not Accepted

**Another transition chapter, I'm sad to say. I've already got the rest of the story planned out, no more than 15, but the ending will be left open for a sequel, if that's something I decide to do. That also depends on what you guys want, so let me know. **

**-Project K-0S**

* * *

The next day, tension between Jason and Dick was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Tim was just caught in the middle of it all. He kept receiving glares from Jason throughout the day, though he had no clue why, and frankly, it was starting to get on his nerves.

Not only that, but even Dick had begun to change, his search for Batman slowly driving him insane. He had started to obsess over it, rarely sleeping. Even Alfred was getting to the point of sedating him, just so he could get some sleep.

He had to admit though, Tim was curious about what would become of Jason. The school year started in merely a few weeks, September right around the corner. Tim pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind, as they held little importance to him.

He wandered the mansion, checking the rooms for Dick. When they all turned out to be empty, he frowned, knowing where the eldest was located.

The cave was quiet, too quiet. Dick's normal chatter usually filled up the gaps in between the shrieking of bats, or the purr of an engine. But now? Tim could swear he could hear his own thoughts echo if he listened closely enough.

"Saudi Arabia," he muttered, walking up behind the high-backed chair in front of the computer. "That's where he's being held."

Dick paused in his typing for a moment, and then turned around.

"I know who has him."

* * *

Within three hours, Dick pulled up before an airplane. A jet, to be specific, owned by Wayne Enterprises. He exited the car, thanking Alfred for the ride.

"Do be safe," the older man spoke before pulling out and driving away. Dick entered the plane, dropping his bag in one of the passenger seats, then entered the cockpit and started to ready the systems. About ten minutes later he sat down and took off, slanting upwards to the sky. The roar of the engines kept him company through the layers of cloud, until finally he reaching cruising altitude.

He pushed a few buttons, setting his course, and then leaving it on autopilot. Intending to take the moment to relax, he leaned back in his seat.

But then a thud was heard in the passenger section. God forbid he relax, it seemed.

Pushing the door connecting the two areas of the plane, the sight in front of him made him want to simply turn right back around and pretend like nothing had happened.

Tim was picking himself off the floor, thrown by turbulence from his seat, while Jason smirked in the seat opposite. Then he noticed Dick.

"Oh… fuck."

Dick took a calming breath, not sure if he was angry for them stowing away or near breaking down because the two couldn't make his life any harder. (On second thought, he doesn't want them to view that as a challenge.)

"Mind explaining why and how you two are here right now?"

Tim looked nervously to Jason, wanting to say something. Jason, on the other hand, didn't seem like he was up for much talking.

"I thought that maybe I could help, like with computers and stuff, I wasn't going to fight, I swear. And I've never been to Saudi Arabia, and the culture seems so interesting, and maybe I could get some good photos, and-"

"Tim wanted to come, convinced me to come too, I hotwired a car and drove it here," Jason interrupted the youngest rambling, getting straight to the point.

Dick opened his mouth to say something, but a blaring alarm interrupted him.

"_Missile alert. Missile alert."_

He raced back to the controls, tilting the plane to the left to avoid said missiles. Three more showed up on the radar, coming from a plane close behind. Dodging another missile, he happened to glance out the window to see the word 'BOOM' painted in red paint on the side of the projectile, (which happened to be green and white.)

"The Joker too?" he asked himself, preparing himself for many more missiles to come.

* * *

The one-sided dogfight was kept up for quite a while, giving Dick a chance to cross the ocean. And then the Joker's plane disappeared.

_Maybe he got bored?_ He thought to himself. It didn't really matter to him why he had stopped, only that he had.

Eventually he was over Saudi Arabia, almost to his destination. Then the plane was hit. Swearing, Dick attempted to make a crash landing, and it worked… sort of. The plane was aflame; pieces of metal had ricocheted and impaled themselves on him. The moment they stopped moving, he grabbed his bag and herded the two boys outside.

"So what now?" Jason asked as they walked, not knowing where to. "We're stuck in the middle of nowhere with no fucking clue where we are."

Dick ignored him, feeling that this was going to be a long walk…

* * *

And so it was, painful too. All three had some sort of wound from the plane, be it burns, cuts and a minor concussion in Tim's case. But they found civilization… eventually. A large town, bustling with merchants and tourists, the locals wisely keeping out of the mess. Dick spoke what Arabic he could remember. Having never needed the language, he was well out of practice.

They found medical supplies, patching up their variety of injuries. And then Jason went off and hotwired another car, much to Dick's displeasure.

The three hit the road once again, this time in a vehicle, on an actual road. Dick knew that the two younger ones were feeling better, as they bickered the whole way there.

It was interesting the way the two interacted. Sometimes they would act like complete strangers, others like enemies, and then there were times, very rare times, when they would act almost like friends.

He let his thoughts wander for a while, but was jolted back into reality at the sight of the Joker, standing in the middle of the road.


	10. And So the Plot Unravels

**Spontaneous bi-weekly update 'cause I felt like it.**

**Here's chapter 10 (double digits!) for you. Thanks to PrincessOfBadLuck, 5-STAR, randomkitty101, ranchan-akari, colerfulldarkness666 and CrazyDyslexicNerd for reviewing sometime in the last 2 chapters. You guys are awesome!**

**-Project K-0S**

* * *

Dick swerved to the side on instinct, the car rolling off the road, kicking up dust in its wake. He could hear laughter bubbling from the clown, and decided to react. Realizing that he was out of costume and unmasked, his hand darted to the bag he had been taking with him.

Pushing aside his suit, he pulled out two escrima sticks and opened the door.

"Don't move," he advised to Jason and Tim, but had a bad feeling that the words were lost on them. He turned, facing the clown warily.

"Ah, bird boy, so nice to see you again," the Joker greeted him, not moving from his spot. "I've noticed you've picked up some strays along the way, though. Would you like me to put them down for you?"

Dick's grip on the sticks tightened. "Don't you dare touch them," he growled, preparing to attack. The Joker put his hands up in a 'back off' gesture before giving him a menacing grin.

"Challenge accepted."

"Why are you here?" he demanded, trying to get straight to the point. "Were you hired?" At the Joker's shrug, he could tell the answer to his question. "Who hired you?"

"Well, birdbrain," the Joker leered. "You already know that, don't you?"

Dick advanced, striking the clown with one of his escrima sticks. The Joker dodged his next blow, and then retrieved what appeared to be a grenade from his jacket. No more than two seconds later it was knocked from his hands.

He made a wild dive for it, pulling the pin. Dick braced himself for an explosion, but none came. Instead a translucent gas started seeping out, a wave hitting Dick. He felt himself become dizzy, sluggish, even. He attempted to move back, but tripped on his own feet, accidentally knocking himself out cold with his own escrima stick.

"Aw, how embarrassing," the Joker sighed, nudging the limp body with his toe. Then he turned to face the car. "I'm afraid that bird boy is in no condition to drive, especially with _children_ in the back seat, imagine how irresponsible that would be. No, I think it's in your best interests to let me take over driving for now…"

* * *

When Dick woke up, the first thing he noticed was the sand in his mouth. The second, however, was that the Joker was gone, and so were Tim and Jason. He picked himself up off the ground, his legs still feeling numb from the gas.

To his left he saw a motorcycle with a note attached to he. He started walking over, almost tripping numerous times. When he reached the bike, he ripped off the note, trying to focus on the words.

_You have a choice, bird boy. If you don't come find Batsy, he'll die. (He's been having some tough times lately). I'm sure you know where he is. __OR __you can come join my party, we're at Warehouse 6C, in the town you just came from._

_Time is ticking,_

_-J_

Dick crumpled the paper in his hand, starting up the bike.

_If I don't find Bruce, he'll die, that's a promise. If he hasn't been able to escape so far, why is now going to be any different?_

_But what about Tim and Jason? _Another voice chimed in. _They're with the Joker, after all._

_What if the Joker's just a trap, luring me in so Bruce dies? If he was going to kill them, why wouldn't he say it?_

Dick stuffed his escrima sticks in his jacket before he straddled the bike, making up his mind. _I'm coming, Bruce._

* * *

The bike pulled up with a roar, being dropped on the ground as Dick jumped off it, walking to the castle before him. He had a feeling that he had already been spotted, but approached silently anyways. The towers created an ominous shadow, allowing him to blend in and slip past the guards.

He walked down the corridors, his sticks in hand, ready to attack if necessary. The rooms were light up by torches in brackets, the light flickering and dancing mischievously.

He made his way down to the prison block, having been captured in it far too many times. Along the way he took out three guards, leaving then unconscious against the wall.

Finally he stood in front of the door, cautiously pushing it open, anticipation rising in his chest. Chained against the wall was…

_Bruce!_

Dick walked over inspecting his former mentor's state. He was attached to an IV bag, but he doubted that it was water or morphine inside. The translucent liquid was a light shade of green, sloshing around when Bruce shifted slightly, blinking.

He looked around, eyes finally settling on the face before him.

"…Dick?"

Dick nodded, starting to open the clamps holding him to the stone wall. Bruce fell forwards, Dick catching him. The older man tried to stand by himself, but after a few seconds he realized that it wasn't going to happen, leaning against Dick's shoulder.

"What did they do to you?" In reply, Bruce merely shook his head.

"Later. We need to get out of he-" he stopped talking staring at the new arrival standing in the door frame.

"Good afternoon, Detective."

* * *

Within two minutes, both were shackled to the wall, easily overpowered by the henchmen of Ra's Al Ghul.

Dick glared at the man as he began to monologue (like every other villain), explaining why he had captured Bruce.

"He would have been a star student, he has the potential, after all. But he decided to be awfully stubborn about the matter. In the end, I decided that I had no other choice than to terminate him."

"So you hired that gang? And the Joker?" Dick asked, trying to stall Ra's as he felt a small lock pick slip into his palm from his sleeve.

"Yes. The gang did its part well, I must admit. But then you started trying to interrogate them, and I'm pleased to admit that they were loyal to me."

"Loyal? They killed themselves!"

Ra's shrugged.

"Another experiment of mine. A new chemical I've been developing. A concentrated dose mixed with two other lethal substances caused them to die instantly. As a matter of fact, that's how I knew I could put the Detective on a weaker dose. He would have been gone in an hour if you had failed to come, as planned. I see that the Joker didn't distract you as long as I had hoped."

Panic hit Dick as a realization struck him. _The Joker isn't acting under Ra's order… That means he's doing this all on his own, deadly, agenda._

He increased the amount of effort he was putting into picking the lock, praying that Jason and Tim weren't already dead. _I've really fucked up on this one…_

He felt the cuff release pressure and let him drop. Using the surprise to his advantage, he kicked one of the guards in the temple, knocking him out. He proceeded to punch another multiple times before doing the same as before. Dick dealt with the third and final guard in the same manner, and then faced Ra's.

"Listen for a minute," he pleaded with the criminal, hoping that he would find his sense of humanity for five minutes. "The Joker, he took two innocent kids with him. They could be dead for all I know, just let us go, please!"

Ra's thought about it for a moment before replying.

"No."

Switching to plan B, Dick used one of his fallen escrima sticks to knock him out.

"C'mon Bruce, we've got some more people to save."

* * *

**And next time on "Welcome to the Game", we pan over to Tim and Jason! Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!**


	11. Countdown

**This chapter saddens me, but writing it was interesting, to say the least. Hope you (maybe not enjoy), but at least appreciate this chapter. Oh, and I posted 2 chapters this week, so if you haven't read the one from Wednesday I'd advise you to do that.**

**Tell me what'cha think!**

**-Project K-0S**

* * *

Laughter. Insane, evil laughter. That's what Tim woke up to. He looked around and found himself in an old-looking warehouse. But that's not what caught his attention.

Jason was on the ground in the center of the building, blood starting to gather beneath him. The Joker stood beside him, holding a bloodied crowbar. Tim winced quietly when he saw the metal come down on Jason's face, hearing a sickening _crunch._

That's when Tim was noticed.

"Ooh, look who's awake! As you can see, we've been having lots of fun so far, but I'm sure we can find a place for you. Wouldn't want to be non-inclusive after all, that's just mean."

Tim struggled to get out of the rope tying his hands behind his back as the Joker walked up to him, patting him on the head.

"Oh, don't be scared, pumpkin," he said, raising the crowbar. "This'll only hurt a little bit."

_Smack!_ Tears sprung to his eyes as the metal bar made contact with his ribcage. The Joker began laughing as he continued to beat him, savoring every moment. Behind him, Tim could see Jason groan and roll over, facing them. It took him a moment to process what he was seeing, but when he did, he didn't like it.

"St-stop it," he rasped, every breath he took lighting his lungs on fire. The Joker paused mid-swing, then turned to him.

"What's that? Stop? Why, if I had known that you enjoyed our time together _that much, _I wouldn't have left!" the clown did a strange little dance as he walked back over to Jason, a polished black boot making contact with his teeth.

While Tim watched the scene in front of him with building horror, he couldn't help but think.

_Dick, where are you?_

* * *

Jason couldn't tell if it had been five minutes or an hour, but the beatings stopped. He looked up tentatively, seeing the Joker feign checking his watch before heading to the door.

"It's been fun, but I've got an appointment elsewhere that I need to get to. Give me a call, okay? Have a nice day!" he exited the building, laughter bubbling from his chest. The two left inside heard the unmistakable click of a lock, the door sealed tight.

Jason managed to cut himself free with a dusty bottle fragment he found on the ground near him. He managed to get to his knees, his body slick with his own blood. He crawled to Tim, cutting his ropes as well. The younger boy was staring at something, eyes filled with fear.

When he looked behind him, he saw why. A bomb, slowly ticking down from 30 seconds.

_29_

_28_

_27_

"It's going to be okay," he attempted to reassure Tim, knowing that there was no way that it would be okay. "Dick will come for us, he'll save us."

Tim hugged his knees, tears shining in his eyes.

"I… I'm scared. I don't want to die," he said quietly, for once acting like his age. He might have the intellect of an adult, but in reality he was just an 11 year old boy, scared.

_22_

_21_

_20_

"You're not going to die," Jason continued the façade, moving closer to the boy. "Y'know Tim, you're not that bad. I can see why Dick likes you."

All he got in response was a small hiccup, but he saw him start to relax by a fraction. Taking this as innovative to keep talking in order to distract him, Jason continued.

"I might have said that I hate you a few times, but that's not really true. You're a nice kid, and I see that now."

_13_

_12_

_11_

"I'd like to get to know you better sometime. Who knows, maybe if Dick decides to keep me around long enough we could become friends- brothers, even." Jason wasn't really sure where he was getting this from, or why he was saying it, but it calmed Tim down.

_Dammit Dick, where are you? _Jason practically screamed inside his head, watching Tim stop breathing when he saw the timer.

_7_

_6_

_5_

Acting out of instinct, he grabbed Tim and pulled him against his body, acting as a shield for the kid. He felt the boy's head against his chest and placed his hand on the back of it, trying to cover his skull and neck. Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly.

_3_

_2_

_1_

* * *

Dick pushed the speed capacity on the bike, trying to get to the warehouse as fast as possible. Bruce's being on the passenger seat slowed him down somewhat, the drugged adult only recently coming back to his senses.

Seeing the warehouse in the distance, he breathed a small sigh of relief, cut off halfway through when the place exploded, smoke billowing from the ruins.

He stopped the biked, Bruce and him getting off. Dick ran into the ruins, frantically searching for signs of life.

_No, they can't be dead. If they are, I swear to fucking god…_

He spotted Tim, alive and moving, kneeling by some debris. _But where was Ja- _Dick froze when he saw that what Tim was kneeling by wasn't debris…

"Jason…" he said, approaching the younger boy. He sunk to his knees, staring at the corpse of the teenager with said name. He was a bloody mess, barely recognizable, skin charred and blistering.

_I thought that by taking you off those streets would save you… Instead I caused your death._

Guilt welled up, along with tears. He shut his eyes, not wanting to see the scene in front of him much longer. He felt a hand lay on his shoulder, Bruce's way of saying "_I'm sorry."_

Dick picked himself up off the ground slowly, helping Tim up.

"You'll have to leave the body, Dick," Bruce said gently, interrupting the heavy silence.

"Are you okay Tim?" He said quietly, tearing his eyes from Jason's body. Tim shook his head, remembering the wounds inflicted from the crowbar.

_He died to save me, _he thought, his hand being tugged gently by Dick, guiding him away from the wreckage. _But I never got to say "thank you"..._


	12. Epilogue

**So I'm sure most of you hate me for killing off Jason, but have no fear! I'll be posting a sequel in August, and he'll be alive and kicking in no time. And no, it won't be just like Under the Red Hood. I have my own plot and such.**

* * *

Later in the evening, the three arrived at Wayne Manor, somber expressions plastered on the faces of all of them.

_There should have been four._

Alfred greeted them at the front door, smiling when he saw Bruce. The smile quickly faded when he read their faces, then proceeded to notice the lack of a teenager.

"Is he…?" The elderly man asked tentatively. Dick nodded before brushing by, disappearing into the depths of the manor. Alfred bowed his head for a moment, the feeling of sorrow heavy in the air. Tim took off his shoes and padded silently down the hallway, leaving Bruce and Alfred.

"Ra's al Ghul hired the Joker as a diversion for Dick, but he took Tim and Jason," Bruce started to try and explain, having only been told little besides Jason's name about the situation. "He was beating the two with a crowbar, I think, then started a time bomb. Tim made it out alive and Jason didn't."

The sounds of their hushed voices echo softly through the manor as they walked together, Alfred headed towards the kitchen.

Upstairs, Tim was sitting on his bed, camera clutched in between the palms of his hands. He didn't move an inch, hugging his knees to his chest. Every time he blinked, the Joker's laugh echoed in his ears; phantom pains piercing the wounds that had been stitched together on the plane ride back.

He flinched at the ghost of a crowbar slamming into his side, a tear slowly leaking from his eye and trailing down his cheek. He took a deep breath, determined to fight off, or ignore at the very least what had been haunting him from the moment they boarded the plane.

He managed to reach out to his nightstand, rifling through the stack of books and papers on the small shelf attached underneath it, pulling out a novel. _Things Fall Apart_ by _Chinua Achebe, _to be precise. He had yet to read it and the local librarian had recommended it to him. He leaned back against his pillow, opening the cover, preparing to delve into the sanctuary that was a book.

* * *

The sound of flesh making contact with a punching bag echoed around the gym, repeating in a constant pattern as Dick beat the living crap out of it. He could start to feel dampness on his knuckles, blood seeping out from were the skin was starting to break. He ignored it, carrying on with the intense work out session.

From the entrance of the room, Alfred watching a bit sadly.

"Perhaps you should stop, Master Dick," he recommended, moving closer to his younger charge, concerned for his well-being.

"No."

"You don't want to over-exert yourself. You can take a break and we can have tea together upstairs, you used to love that when you were you-"

"I said no, Alfred!" Dick shouted, kicking the bag clean off it's hook. Alfred's eyes widened, rapidly changing from shock to hurt. "I- I'm sorry."

"You're acting like Master Bruce, sir," the elderly butler informed him, hoping that this might persuade Dick to stop, because god know they don't need two versions of Bruce in the household. The young adult moved to sit down on a bench, resting his head in his hands.

"He's dead because of me," he said quietly, staring at the gym floor. Alfred moved to sit beside him, ready to part with some words of wisdom.

"When you took Jason off the streets, you had every intention of making sure he didn't get killed out there for something as foolish as drugs or money. It doesn't take a genius to know that would have been his fate, and the longer he stayed out there, the faster it approached him."

Dick wasn't convinced yet, prompting Alfred to continue. "Only five minutes ago I had a conversation with young Master Tim up in his room. He told me something that it might interest you to know. He told me that while the Joker had them trapped in that warehouse, Tim woke up to seeing Jason on the ground, the Joker attacking him. He chose to take what should have been Tim's beating in order to save them.

When he left, there was a bomb ready to blast in 30 seconds. Throughout those 30 seconds, he talked to Tim, made it seem like everything would be okay. Finally, he used his body to shield Tim from the explosion, knowing that he would die if he did so." Dick looked up at him, his eyes pools of guilt and sadness.

"Why did you tell me that?" he asked, voice hoarse from the way his throat had been constricting, silent tears falling from his eyes. Alfred moved closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I told you this because I want you to know that he did not die in vain. He did it to save Master Tim, a human being. Not over a shipment of drugs or a packet of cigarettes, but something far more worthy. Remember that." He stood up, walking to the door. He paused before leaving, looking back at Dick.

"Perhaps you could pay a visit to Timothy soon. I believe he could use it." With that, he left, leaving Dick alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Tim set his book aside, feeling far too distracted to continue reading at the moment. He picked up his camera, clicking through some of his older photos instead. He eventually settled on one of Batman and Robin, the Dynamic Duo in all their glory. Looking at Robin, an idea started to formulate in his head, giving him the urge to leave his bed.

Putting the camera by his pillow, he left the room, determination in his eyes. He walked down the hallway, finally stopping at the study door. Pushing open the door, he quickly spun the hands on the clock to the correct time to open the passage leading to the Batcave. He walked down the steps, seeing the dark figure of Batman walking from his car to the computer.

Tim's heart rate picked up, starting to regret coming down in the first place. _It's too late to turn back now, _he thought, approaching the Dark Knight. He didn't move an inch from where he stood at the computer, even though Tim knew for certain that his presence was no secret.

"Batman needs a Robin," he said, waiting to see his reaction. Although he knew Bruce Wayne quite well, Batman was a whole new person and he didn't know how he reacted to different things.

"Are you offering?" The response finally came from the still unmoving figure, spoken in the signature Bat-voice.

"Yes," Tim wasn't quite sure how he was keeping his voice steady, as he was quite sure that his hands were shaking and his heart was racing. Batman finally turned around, his stare making Tim feel like he could see into his soul.

"Why?" Tim licked his lips, his throat feeling suddenly dry.

"Because I want to stop what happened to Jason and I from ever happening again."

* * *

_Back in Saudi Arabia…_

The smoke and heat had long since died down from the ruins of the building, leaving a charred, black mess in its wake. A group of people approached it, the woman at the front using her boot to nudge a rock out of her path.

"Find the body and bring it back to the plane. Then we leave no evidence that we were ever here…"

* * *

**And that's a wrap! I just want to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited and followed this story. It's been a joy to write, and I look forward to posting the start of the next.**

**I'd like to hear your final thoughts on how this story has been, and I also need a title for the sequel. So if any of you have suggestions for that, PM them to me or leave them in a review.**

**So long,**

**-Project K-0S**


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